


I, Alone

by Safiyabat



Series: Winchester and Sons - Teen Years Series [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safiyabat/pseuds/Safiyabat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean was arrested for stealing food while John was out of town on a job.  What happened to Sam between Dean's arrest and John's return?  Supplement to S9 E07 "Bad Boys," so spoilers for that episode.</p><p>(Note: trigger warning for passing mention of suicide.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I, Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sara_wolfe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_wolfe/gifts).



> Written in response to tumblr user forlorn-kumquat's prompt: Twelve year old Sam in the time between when Dean got arrested and when John finally showed up to get him from the hotel (because you know John wouldn’t have bothered hurrying). 
> 
> I'm also including it in the "Teen Years" series, because that episode is canon. I'm ignoring the nine-year-old Sam idea postulated by Mr. Glass because a) the prompt ignores it, b) the four and a half year separation in their ages has been canon for nine years and I'm sticking with it, and c) I don't remember Sam's age being mentioned in the episode at all. He was in the episode for like two seconds.
> 
> Supernatural and the characters from the show are not my property. I make no money from this or any other work of fan fiction.

Dean had told Sam that he’d be back in half an hour. The pre-teen had busied himself with a book, glad to have no brother flicking wads of paper at his ears while he worked. (“Whatcha doing that for, nerd? Have you heard of fun? It’s a thing we do.”) And he was especially glad to not have his father around to see him wasting his time on literature. (“If you’ve got time to waste on schoolwork you’ve got time to run another five miles today, boy. Dickens won’t help you when a rawhead is chasing you down.”) He didn’t feel particularly unsafe. The salt lines were intact, the room was covered for another three days at least and he had enough firepower in here to take down half of Wall Street. Well, that might have been a slight exaggeration, but he was pretty sure that anything that broke down the door was going to have a pretty rough time of it. Dean was the better shot of the two of them but it wasn’t like he was a complete incompetent, after all.

After an hour he started to get nervous. The convenience store wasn’t that far away. It didn’t take a full hour to get food. He chewed on his pencil. It was true that Dean had a tendency to get distracted. He could get distracted by girls. He could get distracted by cars. He could get distracted by card games, or a gun in a store window, or a nice new knife… Basically if they were not on a hunt RIGHT NOW with a monster breathing right down their necks Dean was kind of like a crow, easy prey for any kind of shiny object that happened to be lying in wait for him. Sam sighed. Something still didn’t sit right with him about this. Pastor Jim had told him about intuition. The subconscious picked up on things that the conscious mind didn’t even really know it saw, and then it relayed things back to the conscious mind in ways that the conscious mind couldn’t really understand or process. Some people called it a “gut feeling,” which sounded a lot like indigestion to Sam, but he guessed a lot of the more macho guys thought “intuition” sounded girly or something. Sam was twelve and looked nine or even younger. “Macho” was really not his thing and probably never would be. Right now his intuition was telling him that something was extremely wrong with the fact that Dean had been gone for more than twice as long as he’d said he was going to be. His gut was telling him that it had been a very long time since he’d eaten. 

He wasn’t allowed to leave the motel room unescorted, either by Dad or Dean. Dad wasn’t here; he was God-knew-where doing something violent to something supernatural – probably something that hadn’t done anything to get itself into its current predicament, like a ghost or a werewolf or something like that. Dean on the other hand was here and just as willing (if not more) to mete out punishment as Dad. Sam was his responsibility after all. He would be pissed if Sam left the room and he wasn’t in trouble. At the same time if he WAS in trouble there was no one else who could get him out of trouble, no one at all. Just Sam.

Sam bit his lip. He wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about the prospect of getting into trouble. On the other hand life without Dean pretty much defined trouble, both from a general perspective and from the perspective of dealing with Dad. He couldn’t quite imagine how Dad would respond to finding out that Sam had let Dean get lost or hurt, and if he had been lost or hurt Dad would be right to blame him. It would all be because Sam wasn’t good enough to have Dean’s back the way he was supposed to, because Sam wasn’t strong enough or fast enough or trustworthy enough. That was how Dad planned for them to be and only Sam was holding them back, he’d heard that enough times to know it was true. He found the .45 his dad had given him three years ago and concealed it carefully as he’d been taught. He found a good silver knife in his bag and strapped it to himself. He left a note for his brother. Finally, he found the spare key to the room and walked out into the sunshine.

He first decided to retrace his brother’s steps. That was the logical first move, right? Dean had been going to the store to get food. The boy aimed himself therefore toward the store. Unfortunately it looked like the market had been the scene of some excitement, and not the kind that involved the bookmobile or extended hours at the library. No less than three sheriff’s deputies blocked the entrance with their squad cars.

For a moment, for one horrible and terrifying moment, Sam was afraid that Dean had been arrested. Then he shook his head. Dean wouldn’t have gotten arrested. Dean was too smart for that kind of thing. He knew that if he got the authorities called down upon them Dad would lose whatever little piece of his mind he had left. Plus, while Dean wouldn’t admit it even under pain of torture he had to know that if social services found out half of what went on – a quarter of what went on – in Winchesterland both boys would be pulled away from John so fast that even the famous monster hunter wouldn’t know what hit him, and if they wound up in the system like that they’d be separated. Dean wouldn’t want them to be separated. Would he? He did grumble about what a pain in the ass Sammy was. But no, Dean wouldn’t want them to wind up in the system. He was too caught up in Dad’s whole master plan, the whole revenge scheme. 

So the cops were certainly not there for Dean, because Dean was too smart for that. Besides, what could he have possibly done to justify three squad cars’ worth of law enforcement? It’s not like he was going to rob the place at gunpoint, just buy some bread and peanut butter. And those cops were definitely on the job, not loitering around because small town policing was boring. The boy considered approaching them anyway, just to see if they’d seen Dean, but he though better of it. He was very small for his age. People always thought he was younger than he was, and when law enforcement found random kids wandering around crime scenes they asked questions. While frankly Sam wasn’t sure that being removed from John’s guardianship wouldn’t be the best thing for both him and Dean, he wasn’t really sold on the whole separation thing himself. He was probably less enthusiastic about separation than Dean was to be honest. So… no cops. 

The convenience store abutted a patch of forest. He made note of that as he continued down Main Street, peering in the windows of every shop. There was no sign of his brother. What creatures were native to this area? Well, ghosts were always a possibility. He didn’t think that his father would have left them in the town if there were even the most remote possibility of anything more serious than a housebound ghost in the place but then again, Dad could be kind of blind to some things. Sam was pretty sure that the man had used the boys for bait at least once, maybe more often than that. So maybe there was a job in town. Maybe Dean was out on that job right now, and that was why Sam had to stay locked in the motel room instead of breathing air that didn’t reek of Dean’s last burrito and Dad’s last spilled beer. 

He swallowed and hurried back to the motor lodge. Nothing had changed. The note he’d left was in the same place he’d left it.

He went back out. He would not panic. He was twelve years old, for crying out loud, not five. Dean was missing. It was his job to find him. He was not the worthless waste of space his father had called him when he’d missed a shot at their last target practice. (“He doesn’t mean it,” Dean had tried to assure him after the older man had stormed off. “He’s just trying to get you to try harder, Sammy. Come on, I know you can do it.”) Maybe he couldn’t hit a moving target with a sniper rifle yet but he would show that he could back Dean up. 

He grabbed a couple more guns – one with regular rounds and one with silver – and another knife before heading out again. Was he overreacting? He was pretty sure that most people would think that a twelve year old with two knives and three handguns going for a walk in the woods was overreacting. He shook his head. It didn’t matter. This was Dean. He left the room and went back out into the late August air. 

It didn’t take him long to sneak back to the trailhead. By now the deputies were gone and he gave some thought to going into the store, but he decided to head into the woods. If Dean had gotten distracted by something hunting related the chances of it being inside the store were minimal at best. It would have been in the woods, and the faster Sam found him the better off Dean would be. He’d take whatever he had coming to him for leaving the room.

He didn’t see any sign of Dean on the trail but that didn’t surprise him. Dean had been trained by the best, after all. He knew how not to leave traces of himself behind on a trail anyone might come across. The passage was about as pretty a path as a person could find; upstate New York was kind of nice that way. Sam would have liked it just for the hike if not for the fact that he had a missing brother to find. He found owl pellets. He found deer tracks. He found breaks in the brush that strongly suggested that deer had bedded down there, scattered about with deer hair as they were. He found some stunningly beautiful feathers that he considered bringing back to the room on general principles – except Dad would be mad, because they weren’t useful for hunting. 

After an hour he found another path, a narrower trail really. It was best described as a deer trail and Sam could see hoof prints on the path. Had Dean maybe followed whatever he’d been chasing down this trail? He looked. The prints weren’t precisely deer prints. They weren’t forest animal prints at all, and try as he might Sam could only make out two of them. This was just getting weird. He looked up from the ground. Maybe if he could see something at a higher level, something to indicate either that Dean had been here or that Dean had been carried through here or maybe what Dean had been chasing he would have an easier time of it. 

“You look lost, boy.”

He almost jumped. He did spin around quickly to see who had spoken, gun in hand. The man – creature – stood at about five foot six, with reddish-blond curls and a frankly pretentious little goatee. He wore no shirt. He wore no pants either, but that would have been a problem because Sam had yet to find a store that sold jeans for human-sized goats. Two goat-like horns rose from the top of his head, like little nubs. “You’re … you’re not a satyr,” he frowned, not lowering his gun.

“Ah, no. There used to be a herd of them over by Woodstock but they picked up and moved out to California back in ’69. I haven’t really heard much from them since. I’d say it’s upsetting but they kind of brought the neighborhood down a bit. One-track minds, you know. I’m all for a good roll in the hay but I enjoy a walk in the moonlight, or the sound of the rain, a bit of music on the pipes – you know how it is. Or since you’re not even growing hair yet but have a gun pointed at me maybe you don’t.” 

Sam tried to scowl the way he’d seen his father and brother do it. “Who are you?” 

The man – creature – smiled with delight. “There’s a rare word from a hunter. ‘Who,’ not ‘what.’ My name is Rob, young man. My name is Rob and in answer to the question you haven’t asked, I’m a faun.” 

“A faun.” He tilted his head to one side. “I thought you only lived in Europe.”

“If only! No.” He sat down on a convenient boulder and Sam lowered his gun a bit. “There was a time, yes. Unfortunately the forests of Europe are a tad diminished these days. If European humans can come over here and play house so can European creatures. I mean, look at you.”

Sam swallowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh, come on. I’ve certainly seen you around town the past couple of weeks and you’re not exactly like the rest of them. You’re not … well, you’re you, let’s just leave it at that, all right? Now tell me, what is it that’s brought you out here into my neck of the woods? Is it my good looks and charming personality?” 

“I’m looking for my brother,” he admitted. “He’s about five foot eight, maybe a hundred thirty five pounds. Dirty blond hair and the greenest eyes you’ve ever seen. Freckles. Have you seen him?” 

“I know the boy you’re talking about,” Rob informed him, “but he hasn’t come into the woods. Not in about a week, when he came in here with that Neanderthal you call a father. They didn’t see any of us, we recognized them for hunters right away and didn’t exactly want their attention.” 

“So why are you letting me see you?” He wasn’t sure if he believed Rob, but the man’s light brown eyes didn’t seem to be terribly concerned about concealment. 

“Well, first of all because you’re not a hunter. I thought you might be at first, considering who I first saw you with and the whole gun thing but you’re not. You’re a lost young person, as much one of us as you are one of them and I think you know it. Secondly, while your brother didn’t come into the woods and I don’t know where he is, I do know someone who does know.” 

Sam lowered the gun completely. He didn’t holster it. “Who is that?”

“Your father. Get in touch with him and he will find out what you need to know. As a third note, I’d like for you to know that Cus’ Diner and the Athenian Restaurant do not have electronic alarms on their doors or cameras. You should be able to get food for yourself after closing time.” 

“Uh… thank you.” He paused. “My name’s Sam.”

Rob held out a hand. Sam knew he shouldn’t get so close – the guy was technically a monster. He was half goat, for crying out loud. But… he seemed to identify with Sam. And he thought he had information about Dean. He shook. Nothing untoward happened. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Sam.”

Sam raced back to the hotel, where he picked up the phone. He didn’t know how to get hold of his father of course. He had no idea where Dad even was. But he knew someone who would know how to find him, or at least who would know someone who might know. Something like that anyway. He dialed the phone. “Hello, Pastor Jim?” he greeted when he heard his favorite adult’s voice. “This is Sam Winchester.”

“Sam! It’s good to hear your voice, son. How are you?”

“I’m… I’m okay, sir. It’s Dean. He’s missing and I’m worried.”

“Ah. Okay. Yes, I’ve heard from your father. He’ll be back to pick you up… when he can, I suppose. He’s in the middle of a job but he knows what’s happened and he’ll take care of it.” 

Sam frowned. He could hear the older man’s eyes shifting, as though he couldn’t meet Sam’s. “If he’s in trouble I should go out and find him now, sir. There’s no time to waste.” 

“Believe me, Sam. Dean is safer where he is right now than he could possibly be anyplace else. You just worry about yourself. Are you in any danger where you are right now?”

What exactly was he going to tell Jim – a supernatural creature from the woodlands of Europe decided to give me pointers on where to steal food? “No, sir. I mean, the room is covered for another couple of nights I think.”

He heard the wince. “Okay, well, hopefully he’ll make it in time. Call me if you have any trouble, Sam.”

“Yes, sir.” From the sound of it Jim didn’t expect John to make it back to town before the money ran out on the hotel room. No food, no money and about to have no roof. Great. First he packed up Dean’s things. Why Dean bothered unpacking in places like this he never knew. Then he made sure that his own things were all set. Much later, around midnight, he set out. Neither Dad nor Dean gave him a lot of credit for this but one thing he could do better than either of them was pick locks. Cus’ Diner was closer to the motel than the Athenian, so he decided he’d raid that place first. This late at night it was deserted, which was the goal. It didn’t take him long to pick the lock.

For a moment he panicked – what did he know about restaurants or where they kept things? All he had was a flashlight and a bag. What if he got arrested? He’d go to jail, they’d send him to a boys’ home, he and Dean would be separated forever. Then he breathed out long and slow. It had been three days since he’d had food. As usual, Dad hadn’t left enough cash. He found where the dry goods were stored. They didn’t have – he didn’t have – a refrigerator so he had to limit himself to only things that could be stored at room temperature. He found some bread and some fruit – that should be enough to get him through for a day or two, right? He shouldn’t need more than that for a couple of days, and they probably wouldn’t even miss this. He let himself out and made it back to the motel. 

He didn’t really expect Dad to rush to find him, and that was good because Dad didn’t come the next day. He didn’t come the day after that either, or the day after that. This was problematic because that was the day that the motel manager knocked on the door. “Where’s your dad?” the old man demanded, looking at Sam with his one good eye. His other eye was blue but milky; Sam wondered what had happened to it.

“He’s out, sir. Working. Can I take a message?” 

“Checkout time was noon. You gotta be out of here.” 

The boy tried to identify the particular liquor on the manager’s breath. Maybe there wasn’t just one. Maybe he was mixing? “Sir, if you can just give us another couple of days –“

“No freebies, kid. Get your crap and have it out of here before I call the cops.”

Sam grabbed the bags. He’d expected this. Fortunately he was ready. “Can I just make one phone call, so my dad knows where to find me? I’d hate for him to think something had happened to his little boy.” He gave the man his best “puppy dog” look, the one Dean insisted got them free milkshakes and extra fries. At the same time he added just a little emphasis to the right words, enough to make it clear how the scenario would look in the right light. 

The old man paled, not pleased at having his “call the cops” ploy turned back on him. “Fine, but make it snappy.”

Sam called Jim. “Pastor Jim, I need to be out of the room,” he warned him. “Can you tell me when Dad will be here so I can make sure he can find me?” 

Jim sighed and cursed. “Damn the man,” he muttered. “I’ll tell him to meet you in the parking lot of the local Catholic church on Friday, all right? There should be a pay phone there. If he doesn’t meet you there call me collect and we’ll make other arrangements.” 

Sam swallowed his disappointment. Today was Monday. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good luck, Sammy.”

The first night was the hardest. Sam found his way to the Catholic church so he knew where it was. Then he went to the local library and killed some time, but the library closed at five. He went to the park, but people seemed to notice that he was alone and carrying four large bags so he kept moving. The town cemetery had a tool shed attached that had an easily picked lock; Sam burrowed inside and left his bags. It was time for a food run. The cemetery was closer to the Athenian, so he went there for dinner. Their bread was better. 

The next day he walked a little way out of town. A lot of these old farms had abandoned buildings on them. He could probably sneak his way into one of them, if he could find one that didn’t already have squatters. He trudged his way out of town again. By about noon he found someplace suitable – more than half of the building had collapsed and there was no way on Earth that power or running water were even remote possibilities, but he could get water out of bathroom taps in town during the day if need be and who needed electricity?

Naturally the place was haunted. Naturally. Sam Winchester couldn’t pick a place to squat that was just falling down around his ears, he had to pick a place that had a resident ghost. He recognized it by the cold spot that showed up as soon as darkness crept in, even before the apparition took shape. Red-rimmed eyes, ligature mark around its neck, patchy and stringy hair – it had the whole ghost workup going for it. “Hi,” Sam greeted it.

It blinked. “You’re a hunter?” 

“Apparently not,” he replied, remembering Rob’s words. “Are you going to try to kill me or something?”

“Well, I mean, I think I’m supposed to. I am a ghost.”

He sighed. “Do you want to be?”

“No one really wants to be a ghost, stupid. But I’m not so keen on having my bones burned either so there’s that.” 

“Do you even know where they are?”

“Like I’d tell you.” 

“My name’s Sam.”

“Marie,” she said after a moment, and some of the ghastly appearance disappeared from her features. “I used to live here.”

“How long ago?”

“Seventy, maybe eighty years. They said I killed myself but it’s not true. It’s not true!’ 

The wind picked up and a little piece of the banister fell to the ground.

“Okay, it’s not true. I believe you. I do.”

“You do?”

“You were there. I wasn’t.” The ghost actually laughed a little. “I want to help you move on if you don’t want to be stuck here anymore, but I don’t want to hurt you. Here’s the thing. I need a place to stay for a few days. Maybe we can help each other out? You don’t try to kill me, I don’t try to hurt you?” Oh yeah – this would go over well. It would go over about as well as, say, getting tips on stealing food from a faun, or knowing that the forest contained multiple fauns and not doing anything about it.

She bit the remains of her lip. “Okay. Where do we start?” 

He looked around himself. “Any chance you can appear during the daylight?”

“Sure.” “All right. Do you mind if I close my eyes for a couple of hours? I’ll be better able to think if I’m better rested.” 

In the morning Marie was still there, looming over him in a corpse-like fashion. He rubbed his face. Wherever he was he hoped Dean was safe and doing something a lot less weird than this. “So what are we going to do, Sam?” 

“I’m not really sure. I think you have to let go of what’s holding you here. Any ideas what that might be? I mean, you got upset when you thought I might not believe you, but I do believe you. So… why did people think you’d killed yourself?” 

“It was my sister,” the spirit complained. “She was jealous because the boy she wanted preferred me. She hit me over the head, put the noose around my neck and shoved me over the railing while I was unconscious.”

Sam made a face. It wasn’t the first ghost story he’d heard that had been sparked by sibling rivalry but it was the first time he’d actually gotten to talk to a ghost. “That’s terrible!” he said. “I can’t imagine how I’d feel if Dean did something like that to me.”

“Is Dean your brother?”

“Yeah. He’s the best. He’s smart, and strong, and he’s the best at everything. Everyone loves him.” He sighed. 

“Then where is he now?”

“I don’t know. He disappeared a few days ago and I couldn’t find him. Our dad knows about him, knows where he is and everything but hasn’t come to get me yet.” He shrugged. “They say he’s safe but I won’t believe it until I see it, you know?” He got a hunch. “I don’t suppose he came in here?”

“No, you’re the first person to come in here – hunter or not – in years. I guess most hunters just aren’t interested anymore.” She shrugged. 

“You’ve met hunters but you’re still here?”

“I wouldn’t go into the basement if I were you.”

He stood up. “Marie!”

“I told you, I’m not exactly keen to go getting my bones burned, Sam. It was either them or me. I’m not going to hurt you. You told me you weren’t going to hurt me and I took you at your word.”

He sat back down again. “You’re right. I’m sorry. My family are hunters and I got scared.” 

“Let me guess, they’d already be out looking for the grave.” He nodded. “Why aren’t you?” 

“You’re a ghost, sure. And that sucks for you. I’m sorry. And you’ve killed hunters, and the hunters probably thought they were doing something good. But… well, it’s not like you’re seeking out people to kill, right?”

“No, I’d rather not have to kill anyone, you know? I wouldn’t mind someone hearing my side of it, and maybe interacting with me a little, but I don’t seek out people to harm.”

“So it sounds to me like it was the hunters who went looking for trouble, so of course they found it. You’re not trying to hurt people so I don’t want to have to hurt you. I mean, if people are getting hurt I’ll fight I guess, if there’s no one else. But I don’t feel like everything that isn’t human or that isn’t human anymore has to be destroyed and tortured.” He stretched. “So tell me, Marie. What is it that you actually want out of life?” 

He and the ghost chatted quietly for a while. They explored the house. He couldn’t go outside the house because he didn’t want to draw attention during the daylight but he was eager to see what was left of the house that she remembered. Marie, as it turned out, hadn’t been much older than he was when she’d died. Her body had been hastily cremated because of the presumed suicide and no one ever spoke of her again. By Thursday evening he felt confident that he could suggest a solution. “What if I make you a memorial?” he suggested. "I can carve it right into these walls. It’s not exactly a proper burial but we can’t do that anyway, and besides – I know the truth, so there will be one person who isn’t your killer who knows.” 

She considered. “We can try it,” she hazarded. Sam pulled out his knife and began carving. He got her name, then her dates of birth and death. Then he paused and added, “Murdered and miscalled suicide, she was denied proper rites and burial. Let the truth be known so she can have rest.” It seemed kind of pretentious to him but it made her face light up. 

It made her face really light up. The light grew and grew until it engulfed the ghost, who gave him one glance of exquisite peace before vanishing entirely. It was the most breathtaking thing Sam had ever seen and for a moment his greatest wish was that he’d been part of it. Of course, he didn’t have the purity for that kind of beauty. 

Sam spent the night alone. Funny how the house seemed that much creepier without a ghost in it. The next day he trudged into town and found the Catholic church to wait for his Dad. He hid out by the St. Vincent de Paul collection box so as to avoid attention and had reason to be glad of the foresight, because he waited a good long time. That was okay. It gave him time to contemplate exactly how much trouble he was in. By the time the sun set and he heard the low rumble of the Impala’s engine approaching he had both worked himself up into a mini-panic and decided on a solid fence of evasive action. Dad could never know.

His father pulled into a parking space. Sam grabbed the four bags and waited for Dad to pop the trunk. Once the bags were safely stowed he climbed into the backseat. “Where’s Dean, sir?” he demanded.

“Lost on a hunt,” John growled. He pulled out onto the road. Sam looked away. Dean wouldn’t have gone out on a hunt without at least one gun and a knife. He’d brought neither. It was not the first time his father had lied to him. It would certainly not be the last; that was why he resorted to stealing the journal and reading it when the old man was drunk, after all. “You’re going to Bobby’s.” 

“I want to help find him,” he objected.

“You? Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t very well do my job if I’m worrying about the trouble you’re getting into.” The man glanced at him, sullen. “Why the hell weren’t you at the motel?”

“You only paid through Monday, sir. Today is Friday.”

He looked back at the road. “You stink.”

“Squatted in an abandoned farmhouse, sir, and a cemetery. I couldn’t really take a shower.” His stomach growled loudly.

His father cursed. “I’d rather not take the time but apparently you couldn’t take care of yourself beyond making daisy chains or whatever. We’ll stop in the next town and get a room for the night. You’ll shower and I’ll get takeout from the twenty-four hour diner. We’ll start for Bobby’s in the morning.” 

Dad was definitely lying about Dean being lost on the hunt. If he were really lost he’d have sent someone else to fetch Sam, because he couldn’t risk his golden boy being actually lost. There was no way he’d actually give Sam the information, though, not directly. As the car headed west Sam settled back into his space. Dad had his secrets and Sam had his. Pastor Jim had told him Dean was safe. That would have to be enough for now.


End file.
